Among the Free
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Modern Warfare 2. July 4, 2018. The first 50 Medals of Honor and the first 50 Presidential Medals of Freedom awarded for actions during the Third World War are being presented at a special ceremony on the lawn of the rebuilt White House in Washington, D.C. SSG Jake Dunn meets one young man who is present, standing in line to receive the award for someone he knew very well.
1. Chapter 1- July 4

**Chapter I- July 4**

* * *

It was a warm day- not too hot, not too cold, with clear skies overhead. Only a light breeze disturbed the calm, and in Master Sergeant David Foley's mind, really just added to it. The White House looked stunning for a building that had been nearly destroyed just two years ago; reclaimed in form as well as in fact, it showed barely a trace of the horrific damage that been done to it in the recent past. Even the MiG-29 jet fighter that had come crashing down on the front lawn after the EMP blast was gone; tireless work by the best gardeners the National Park Service could find had restored a smooth, fine sheen of grass across the White House Lawn.

The dollars all the restoration work had cost, the many hours of hard, hard labour, were understood by all present today to be nothing compared to the price so many had paid- on this very lawn- in blood. Nobody complained at any point of the restoration process- in fact, the White House offices had been forced to turn down legions of volunteers, directing them to the hundreds of other restoration projects going on at the many landmarks in the District of Columbia, and around the nation.

There was no shortage of things that needed to be rebuilt in the United States or Europe following the devastation brought by World War III- for the first time since 1812, Americans had witnessed the fire of foreign guns brought to their shores and cities. Only fierce- no, absolutely tireless, _fanatical_- resistance by the US Armed Forces had repulsed the invaders and allowed the Stars and Stripes to fly over all 50 states again. They had not only done that, but counterattacked in the Pacific and in Europe, achieving more than their numbers and resources should have allowed.

The bureaucrats were still counting up just how much it had cost.

The same could be said of Europe; though some might have been quick to forget this, many, many nations across that not-so-distant continent had paid an equally high price- arguably, some had even paid a worse one. France, Britain, Germany, the Baltic States, Poland- even Ireland, for sending her badly-understaffed Defence Forces to aid Britain in rising to meet the Russian threat- had paid dearly. Queen Elizabeth II- who had flatly refused to leave England's borders even in the darkest hours of the fighting- had declared at a recent Victoria Cross investiture ceremony in London that the people of the United States, Canada and Europe had "enough dead heroes for the end of time". For his part, Master Sergeant Foley was thankful there were some living ones. It sickened him to think of how few their numbers were, compared to those who had fallen and would never rise again.

Two years had passed since the Battle of Washington, and a few months over a year since the end of World War III. The American public had been clamoring for the recognition of the almost countless acts of bravery by members of the US Armed Forces during the war, almost from the day the war began. Administrators and bureaucrats had also been scrambling- once again in the face of immense public demand- to recognize a similarly staggering number of courageous, selfless acts by civilians of all types and ages. Among the civilians who would- in the following Presidential Medal of Freedom awards ceremony- begin to see recognition for their own selfless acts were several World War II, Korea, and Vietnam War veterans. The oldest civilians to go above and beyond for others during the Russian invasion of the United States were past 70- the youngest was not even 18.

Ultimately, Foley had a feeling the awards ceremonies would be going on for a very long time after today- more stories were always coming up; another act of selflessness by a soldier or civilian seemed to reach the newspapers every day. Even ten years after World War II, Korea, and Vietnam, men and women were still- finally- receiving proper recognition for their actions in those conflicts. Foley had no delusions about World War III- its story would be the same.

Today, then, was not about recognizing everyone. That just wasn't possible- not today, not tomorrow. Doing that would, truly, be a process for more than one lifetime. But July 4, 2018 was rightly chosen as the day that America would begin the process. Thanking the first fifty chosen to receive America's highest military honor- the Medal of Honor- and her highest civilian honor- the Presidential Medal of Freedom- would be where the process would begin.

It was the greatest moment of David Foley's career to be chosen as one of those fifty soldiers. Steadily becoming a household name across the nation for his many above-and-beyond actions and exceptional, cool-headed leadership during the Battle of Washington, Foley had been an automatic choice for one of the first fifty Medals of Honor presented for actions during the course of World War III. Who more deserved thanks than the soldier who personally led the retaking of the White House? And where better to thank him than on the lawn where he had fought his most famous battle?

Where better, indeed?

It was 1:30 in the afternoon; the sun shone down brightly as Foley shifted uncomfortably in his dress blues; he wished 1400 would hurry up and get here. These dress uniforms were designed to look good, and Foley's was spotless; not even a piece of lint, blown towards him by a passing breeze, dared touch the famed Master Sergeant's uniform.

The promotion had come with the award; Foley's superiors- among them Colonel Henry Marshall, who was also here today, though still waiting on his pending promotion to Brigadier General- had been very clear on that. Though Foley had initially wanted to turn down the award- medals were not why he had joined the Army or the Rangers- seeing so many soldiers he personally knew and respected accept the honors being given them convinced him to go along with it. After all, some- too many- of their comrades did not have the chance to be at any awards ceremony. Too many American soldiers and civilians would never be doing anything, ever again. It was for them- not himself- that Foley was wearing these terribly uncomfortable dress blues today.

Across the lawn, under the shade of a tree that had somehow- to the amazement of many- survived the battle that had just two years ago raged around it, Foley spotted a young boy arguing with a very well-dressed couple who had to be his parents. The boy was no older than 12, and wearing what had to be an awfully expensive suit. He had sandy-blonde hair, a round, handsome face- and a most insistent look in his gray eyes.

"Mom!" the boy was saying, making an effort to keep his voice down, "Let me do this! _Please_."

The parents looked like they were trying to reason with him. The boy kept insisting that it had to be him; he owed it to Will. Will had saved his life. The parents finally reached a compromise with their son, though it took a couple of minutes. Or rather, they folded. It looked like this boy was not about to accept anything less. He seemed to be insisting that he be the one to walk across the platform during the ceremony; after a time, his parents agreed, telling their son they'd be watching from the crowd.

The boy's words were almost lost to Foley's ears- he was already standing more than twenty feet away and trying not to make it look like he was listening- but he was clearly deeply moved, and very grateful.

Standing next to him, Staff Sergeant Jake Dunn tilted his head slightly towards the three, keeping his voice down. "Sarge, check that out. Not your average 12-year-old, hooah?"

Foley grunted; he didn't like Dunn even pointing those folks out that way. It didn't take a genius to figure out their honored family member was not one of the living soldiers being honored today. Of the 50 MOH and PMF recipients today, 25 were living and 25 posthumous awards. That decision, too, had been difficult- but President Mark Bennett had been adamant that not only civilians and military but the living and the dead be honored in equal numbers at this first major awards ceremony. The entire event was all about symbolism, about making a statement before the nation and the world. America, President Bennett had said in a speech announcing the July 4 ceremony, had an obligation to honor its heroes- living and dead- with equal reverence and respect.

Finally, though, Foley nodded, but kept his voice down. "Leave 'em be, C-Sergeant," and scowled with mock sternness as Dunn grinned at Foley's near-mistake of addressing him by his former rank of Corporal. Even though some time had passed, Foley still wasn't quite used to his old team leader's new rank- or his own, for that matter.

Regardless, Dunn went on, "Not like I was gonna go up and say what's up to 'em." He tossed another glance their way- then noticed the family of three had melted back into the crowd, which was slowly getting into- of all things- formation, in preparation for the start of the Medal of Honor presentation ceremony.

Dunn soon caught sight of the boy again, and thought briefly of his 17-year-old nephew Kevin, and how the teenager would be one of the Dunn family members watching as Jake received his Medal of Honor today. Steven Dunn, Jake's brother, had been killed by Russian paratroopers during the invasion, one of thousands of civilians to meet such a fate. A horrid memory from that day flashed before Dunn's eyes; a BTR-90 firing its explosive cannon rounds into houses as it drove down an Alexandria, Virginia suburban street. And him- the big Army Ranger, Kevin's hero Uncle Jake- skittering through side alleys with nothing but an M4 in his hands. Powerless, absolutely powerless, to do anything to stop it. The sight and sound of that BTR killing its way up a picturesque American neighborhood had haunted Dunn for the rest of the war- and would probably haunt him for the rest of his life.

David Foley had made Master Sergeant for a reason; a very obvious reason. Simply enough, he personified the name: he was a Master Sergeant, an expert of a U.S. Army Ranger's tasks and drills and an icon of the professional NCO. This meant that he had little difficulty reading the darkened, troubled expression of the younger sergeant beside him. "Look, Dunn," Foley said in a more gentle voice, "Go up and talk to the kid afterwards. If you really want to."

Dunn shook his head, fighting off some rough memories. "Hooah, Sarge. I hear you."

The ceremony started fifteen minutes later.


	2. Chapter 2- The Fifty

**Chapter II- The Fifty**

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On the podium at the center of the restored, once-again-pristine lawn of the White House, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Brian A. Moreland of the United States Army- a highly-esteemed officer who had personally commanded American forces in Germany during the darkest days of the Russian invasion of Europe- began the ceremony with a short speech.

"Today is a great day for all of us. For those gathered here at the White House, for the men and women of the US Armed Forces, and for the United States of America. The coming of the Third World War was not something any of us could have easily foreseen; but once it was here, the American people and the soldiers who had sworn to protect them did not shy away from the challenge. It was a long, hard road we had to travel- but we traversed it to the very end.

We have not come all this way as a people, as a nation, because we are looking for the easy path in things. This Republic has not stood for 243 years by mere accident. It is a willingness to sacrifice, to believe in and dedicate one's life to things bigger than any individual, that has ensured the survival of not only America, but of the free world.

We take great pride in honoring the many men and women who demonstrated exceptional valour, in the face of insurmountable odds and overwhelming enemy force. Heroism and selfless courage, far above and beyond the call of duty, were exhibited by so many in the past war, that it may be generations before we can honor them all.

This day, then- July 4th, 2018- is not the end of us honoring the heroes of the Third World War. It is not even the beginning of the end.

But it _is_ the end of the beginning.

It is my great privilege, as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, to begin the process of recognizing those whose actions in the past war deserve special note. First, the Medal of Honor. The President of the United States takes great pleasure in presenting these medals to those soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines whose actions in combat went above and beyond the call of duty. Their bravery in the face of impossible odds reflect great credit; both on themselves, and the United States Armed Forces."

Lined up on the lawn, a wood platform covered in red velvet- or something that looked like it- was approached by each of those being honored- or their next of kin- as each name was called. Dunn knew the stories of more than a few of those 50 Medals of Honor being presented today, but too many were being given to people he had not been given the privilege of meeting. Yet Dunn felt a sense of kinship with every single one of them- with the recipients themselves, and with their families. The pain- and pride- on so many faces was obvious. It was all Dunn could do to keep a calm, solemn face. He found himself fighting- sometimes losing- to hold back tears.

Name after name was called- men of every single armed service were represented here today. Even the Coast Guard was present- members of that service had made truly superhuman efforts to guard the shores of the United States during the Russian invasion, stunning even their enemies with the fierce, innovative efforts they made in helping a hard-pressed Navy coordinate and wage an effective resistance.

Finally, it was Dunn's turn. Under his black beret and dress blues, Dunn started to sweat big-time, and in a way that had nothing to do with the afternoon heat.

"Staff Sergeant Jacob Dunn, United States Army!" General Moreland announced, and Dunn's heart stopped. His brain shut down, and he hoped his mouth wouldn't be needed, because that had just wired itself shut.

But Dunn's feet had no such problems- he marched smartly up the stairs and onto the platform, facing front after saluting General Moreland and the President. Bennett, a handsome man even past the age of fifty, had a head of iron-grey hair and a strong voice- like Moreland, one that somehow managed to carry an almost electrifying sense of urgency, an ability to motivate and encourage men to do far more than their jobs required in times of crisis.

Dunn stood ramrod stiff, standing at attention so strictly he had to remind himself not to lock his knees and pass out before the sea of reporters, dignitaries, civilians and family members watching- as well as, through the wonders of modern television, the entire nation. After just a moment, President Bennett stood in front of Dunn, raising the sky blue ribbon and gold star beneath; Dunn marveled at how the gold of the medal seemed to outshine everything in sight; the sun itself surrendered some of its glory, and the even many silver stars on the shoulders of the assembled Joint Chiefs suddenly appeared dull.

President Bennett carefully set the medal around Dunn's neck, shaking hands with him. Dunn barely remembered to grip the President's hand in response; he was still only half-convinced any of this was real. It was a marvel to him that he was even alive- Dunn would never again take life for granted like he had before the war. Intensely aware now of how short life could be- and how easily it could be taken away- Dunn stood on the platform that warm July day, shaking hands with his Commander-in-Chief and making a silent vow, on behalf of all the young men who could have been standing in his place today, had only they been a bit more lucky.

_I will not waste my life. I will take nothing for granted. I will live every day as if it is my last- because one of these days, it's gonna be true._

Dunn could think of nothing to say, and there was little time anyway; he feared botching it if he did speak, and so said nothing at all. President Bennett and General Moreland seemed to understand, though, and each nodded solemnly- and with a look of genuine admiration on their faces. Both men had personally read and approved the citation for each serviceman's award today; reading the paragraphs profiling these individuals' truly selfless courage had been a truly humbling experience for both of them.

Soon Dunn stood off to the rear of the platform, joining a formation of fellow recipients- or the individuals standing there in their place. He felt glad the attention was not directly on him anymore; these fancy ceremonies made Dunn feel like he was about to make an ass of himself. But he made no such mistakes- not today. He simply stood at attention besides some of America's finest, listening as more and more names were called.

"Master Sergeant David Foley, United States Army!"

Foley, carrying himself as calmly and professionally as ever, approached the platform, climbed the steps, took his place at its centre and received his own sky blue ribbon and gold star. Dunn was not surprised to see Foley clearly be calmer than Dunn himself had been, under the intense pressure of being honoured in front of the nation. Foley had kept his head even during the EMP blast over DC, when helicopters and fighter jets had been literally raining from the sky. If a man wasn't going to lose it then, he probably never, ever would.

Before long, the roll reached another landmark in American military history.

"Major Susan Gray, United States Army!"

A tall, slender and stunningly attractive woman in her thirties approached the platform in Army dress blues. She wore the distinctive Green Beret, and the black shield insignia of the 5th Special Forces Group. Dunn- and more than a few others, he was sure- were stunned to see she wore literally every other major American military award for valour. Bronze Star, Silver Star, Distinguished Service Cross, and now the Medal of Honor. Major Susan Grey had earned them all. Dunn had heard of her before- who in the military hadn't? Major Gray and her exploits as the first woman to successfully enter the US Army Special Forces were legend. She had won the respect of a military community dominated by men, and done it playing their own game. She could out-shoot, out-run, and out-fight a whole brigade of ordinary men. But for Dunn, the thing that Major Gray most deserved respect for as a soldier was her professional, matter-of-fact attitude: she had avoided special treatment all through her Army career, and had never once been interested in the praise of the feminist movement. She believed in an Army of soldiers, plain and simple. Skin colour, religious faith, gender or sexual preference- none of it made any difference to Major Susan Gray.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Dunn could see the young boy from earlier. Solemn and visibly fighting to keep his emotions in check, he waited for the name to be called.

"Captain William Kahler, Jr., United States Air Force!" Briefly, the boy went pale, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Clearly, Dunn was not the only one afraid of doing something stupid in front of the entire country. But the 12-year-old boy calmed himself and walked forward without hesitation. As he climbed the steps, General Moreland added, "Receiving the award on behalf of his brother, Mr. Alexander Kahler!"

The boy's face was tense, an icon of the powerful force of human emotions. He reached the centre of the platform and shook hands with General Moreland and President Bennett, never once faltering or hesitating in any way. He did not wear his brother's medal- none of the next-of-kin would have done so, even had it fit with custom- but instead accepted it in his left hand, holding it squarely in his palm as he took his place in the formation. Dunn made a decision then, standing only a few feet from the boy. He would speak with this child- no, this young man- just as soon as he could. He might be able to say a thing or two, and for some reason Dunn wanted very much to know the story of Captain William Kahler. It was very likely a story worth hearing.

Before long, Colonel Marshall's name was called- as a full-bird Colonel, he was one of the highest-ranking men on the list. He behaved just the same as if he'd been a private or a newly-minted butterbar, though, for which every watching soldier gave him credit. Dunn could still hear him roaring to his men over the riotous din of the battle on the White House lawn: "Keep hitting 'em with the 240-Bravo's! Get men moving on the left flank!"

Word had it that Colonel Marshall hadn't slept for well over 72 hours during the battle. That alone might not have made him unique- record-setting sleep deprivation had been a common theme among American servicemen during the invasion- but there was a solid chance that he had literally been up and moving for every single second of those three days. As far as Dunn was concerned, there wasn't a doubt in his mind the rumor was true. Colonel Marshall, like Major Gray and every other officer wearing a sky-blue ribbon on that platform, had won the respect of his men the hard way- and for him, the _only_ way.

Once the last few names in line were reached, the final one ended up being another name Dunn knew.

"Commander Andrew Zamorro, United States Navy!"

The last man in line was also one of the youngest O-5's present; Dunn recognized him as commander of the _USS Florida_. Crash-diving his boat after a frantic race out of King's Bay, the career submariner had taken command of the _Florida_ after it became clear her skipper had not survived the run many crewmen had to make across the naval base to where the _Florida_ was tied up at the dock. The _Florida_ had vanished into the Atlantic for the rest of the war, striking at first on her own initiative, and then later on orders from a counterattacking Navy. She had returned from a combat patrol that lasted nearly two years with her cruise missile bays empty and her torpedoes all gone- but with many, many kills and combat missions on her record. Commander Zamorro's _USS Florida_, designed as a ballistic missile submarine, had ended up taking its place as one of the most famed attack submarines of the war.

Dunn waited on the platform while a second speech was made, this time by the President- and soon, he began presenting the Presidential Medal of Freedom to its first fifty World War III recipients.

Old soldiers and retired airline pilots, Eagle Scouts and a JROTC cadet.

A lone 18-year-old boy from North Charleston, South Carolina, who had hidden among the dunes on the beach near his hometown, making 911 calls to alert authorities to the presence of Russian forces as they landed. Once the phone lines became hopelessly jammed, he resorted to text-messaging his uncle, an Air Combat Controller at Tyndall Air Force Base in Florida, and once the battery in his phone died proceeded to evade Russian forces in North Charleston for no less than three days. The sandy-blond-haired teenager's bearing was proud and erect, his face tense and emotional- hardly an uncommon symptom among those being honoured today. The young man's walk was also a little slow, somewhat stiff.

Asking around later, Dunn learned he was Samuel Camden, and that he was the Governor of South Carolina's son. When the Russians had caught him, Sam had refused to disclose the identity of his parents, even though this would have almost certainly earned him special treatment.

His defiant actions prior to his capture, however, had almost certainly sped the response of South Carolina Air and Army National Guard forces, as well as the overall American counterattack against the invasion of South Carolina's shores. Sam Camden's rebellious, daring actions had saved many American lives- and likely cost the Russians many in turn. From the beginning of his internment at a North Charleston high school turned into a POW camp, Sam Camden had been a prisoner known by face and name to the guards. He was allowed to sleep less than five hours a day, and in response constantly made trips under guard to fill up bottles of water at the hallway water fountains and bringing them to other captured civilians.

The reason for his oddly stiff walk, Dunn learned, was that Sam Camden had nearly bled to death on the day of his rescue. A team of Green Berets had sprung an attack to retake the school, and though they'd done their job well the Russian guards had learned what was happening. While most either threw down their weapons or attempted to fight off the commandos, a few had broken into the main holding area- the school's gymnasium- and begun firing into the crowd.

Sam Camden had sprung up from where he was sitting when he saw what was happening, and just as a woman beside him was about to be fired on at point-blank range by a Russian marine's shotgun, Sam had grabbed the barrel and taken the blast in his leg. The buckshot had nearly taken the teenager's leg off, and the Green Berets had barely managed to slow the blood loss in time. Sam Camden was spoken of as a hero by many of the liberated prisoners, and his spur-of-the-moment act of heroism, coupled with his earlier actions when the Russians first landed in North Charleston and Myrtle Beach, more than ensured his presence today. The reason for his odd walk was simple; his right leg was gone from halfway down his thigh, amputated at a hospital only an hour before liberated by American forces. Camden now wore a titanium substitute in its place.

Dunn shook hands with the teenager briefly after the ceremony, but the powerful emotions felt by the both of them made conversation impossible. They just couldn't find the words.

Each individual presented with the Presidential Medal of Freedom was as different and unique as the Medal of Honor recipients they stood beside. Yet just like those men and woman they had a single common attribute- all had been prepared to give their lives, or _had_ given their lives, in the name of something bigger than themselves.

The applause that went up once the last medal was finally presented and its recipient joined with the formation- neatly divided into the MOH and the PMF halves- was so loud Dunn was sure it could be heard in Baltimore, and perhaps even farther away than that. As he allowed his eyes to roam a little bit, Dunn noticed for the first time how big the crowd really was- it went way, way beyond just covering the White House lawn.


	3. Chapter 3- Boots on the Ground

**Chapter III- Boots on the Ground**

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**A/N: While the West Virginia Air National Guard does operate two airlift wings, one of which is called the 130****th**** and does fly C-130's, I doubt the C-130 that is shot down in 'Modern Warfare 2' and crashes outside the address LTG Shepherd sends SGT Foley's squad to on Brookmere Road has a tail number that matches up with any aircraft flown by the WV ANG. I wanted to add that aircraft and its crew into the story, though, so screw it.**

**The speech Jake Dunn gives to Alex Kahler is based off a speech said to the younger brother of Private Kevin Harkin by his recruiter, Staff Sergeant Mike Donley, in Season 7: Episode 11 "The Good Soldier" of the TV show "Cold Case". Once again, though, the speech is mostly original, but takes inspiration from the spirit of what SSG Donley said.**

* * *

Jake Dunn was thankful when the ceremony finally ended; he had been able to deal with living face-to-face, every day for two years, with death… but he barely had managed dealing with this. Among so many great men and women, such fine soldiers and exemplary civilians, Dunn had felt out of place. He had more than a little difficulty figuring out just why he was even here.

As usual, though, Master Sergeant Foley had the answer. Arguing with Dunn outside the White House during the reception afterwards, he snapped, "Shut up! Get a grip, Sergeant! They gave you that friggin' medal because you didn't just lie down and take it. You stood up, got out there, and kicked some ass!"

At that, Dunn had smiled and nodded, grateful that at least one person understood. "Thanks, Master Sergeant," he said.

Foley managed to crack a smile, too. "Anytime, Sergeant. Anytime."

As he was making his way from one room of the massive dining hall to another, scouting about for the boy named Alexander Kahler, Dunn bumped into an officer coming the opposite way through the same door. And- aw, shit- it wasn't just some officer, either. It was General Brian Moreland.

"Uh, sorry, sir," Dunn said, backing up as gracefully as he could and standing aside. "My apologies, sir."

Moreland surprised him, then, by looking at Dunn like he suddenly had sprouted a second head. "_You_? Apologizing to _me_?"

"Well, sir, I-"

Moreland stood aside and cleared the doorway for Dunn. "Get your ass through this door, Staff Sergeant. And don't you ever let me see you apologize to anybody again."

Dunn obeyed, trying to conceal his surprise, and spent the next ten minutes wondering how in the hell he'd become so esteemed as to be berated for apologizing to a four-star general, _by_ a four-star general.

The search went on, but Dunn couldn't find the boy anywhere inside the dining hall or the adjacent rooms. For a time, he feared he'd missed him- that the boy had already left with his parents and was gone for good. Luck intervened, though, and Dunn found him sitting quietly outside, watching contrails of a few distant planes as they moved across the clear sky. Soon, though, the boy gave that up, as if the effort of even thinking about aircraft and their pilots pained him.

Unknown to Dunn, he was busy envisioning his brother's reckless last flight with the 130th Airlift Wing of the West Virginia Air National Guard. Alex Kahler knew well the story of the West Virginia ANG's gallant role in the evacuation of Washington, D.C., Baltimore, and Richmond, Virginia. He knew too well of how the Mountain State's air forces had nearly destroyed themselves in the effort- those pilots who weren't killed exhausted, their planes shot up or shot down. And all that was _before_ the EMP…

But what Alex Kahler couldn't shake off- what he couldn't get out of his head- was that one C-130 that had gone tearing out of Richmond International Airport with Russian MiG's strafing the runway. Packed beyond capacity with refugees, it had landed in Charleston, West Virginia only long enough to put gas in the tanks and yank the bullets out of the wings.

Alex Kahler and his parents had been on that flight to Charleston. He still held his brother's Medal of Honor in his hands.

The Medal of Honor, given to the pilot of that C-130 who had made yet another return flight, this one to Northern Virginia, heading for the evacuation zones in D.C. One C-130, going down over an address on Brookmere Road, her cargo bay thankfully empty of refugees. Her pilot had been forced to abort the landing; the strip was too shell-marked, the landing zone too hot.

The C-130's pilot had been unable to make his planned landing- but he had been able to lure a pair of MiG-29's far away from the cas-evac choppers, and distract more than a few Russian AA guns from shooting down another UH-60 with red crosses on its sides. He'd been able to do all that, if only for a little while. It was that vision that Alex couldn't shake, beautiful and terrible beyond description. A C-130 going down in flames. One C-130, too low for its pilots to eject. One C-130, flown by a man who knew the risks but took them anyway, because somebody had to do it. One C-130… flown by Alex Kahler's big brother.

Alex Kahler noticed the door behind him open; he'd appreciated being alone in this garden, and right away feared his parents- who he'd asked to leave him alone for a while- or somebody else had found him and was going to bother him, ask him questions… or ask what action had earned his big brother the Medal of Honor- and cost him his life.

Instead, he just saw a tall, handsome man in full dress blues- not Air Force, not like his brother would have been wearing, but the Army. Gold stripes on his arms indicated the rank of Staff Sergeant, and the flash on his black beret showed he belonged to the 75th Ranger Regiment. The sky-blue ribbon draped around his neck, with its gold star and eagle that outshone the sun, told of yet another story- this man had risked it all, too. He might not have ever known Alex's brother, but Will would have respected him- Alex could tell that about this Staff Sergeant instantly. So he nodded respectfully, but still said nothing. He couldn't bring himself to say "Go away", but rather wished it.

The sergeant nodded in return, his face solemn and respectful. "Alexander Kahler, right?"

Alex nodded one more time, but didn't speak. He had no strength for words today, and had cried for two days straight upon learning his brother was dead. It had taken an immense effort to come to this ceremony today, and an even greater one to convince his parents to let him walk the platform and receive Will's Medal of Honor from the Air Force Chief of Staff today. He'd argued right up the last few minutes before the ceremony- and for a time forgotten how terrified he was of the whole thing, of meeting a four-star general and the President.

Perhaps the sergeant sensed some of this; he seemed quite intelligent, and Alex felt himself warming a little despite his reluctance. Somehow, he was just sure that his brother might well have liked this sergeant. Will had been a friendly guy, but he'd had this special ability to perceive the best men in any crowd and seek them out, hoping to make them better. This sergeant had that same look about him, too. So the sergeant- whose black nametag read DUNN- said nothing for a few moments, then held out a hand. "Staff Sergeant Jake Dunn, US Army."

Alex stared at his hand briefly, then shook it. He was not surprised at the firmness of the Ranger's grip- he _was_, at the firmness of his own.

Staff Sergeant Dunn sat down on the stone bench beside Alex, and for some time neither of them spoke. It seemed like they'd both come out here for the same reason- to get away from all the fuss and all the dignitaries for a time, and just be alone with their own thoughts.

Finally, the sergeant got up and stood in front of Alex, crouching to meet him at eye level.

"Alex, you don't know me, and I didn't know your brother. I don't know what he did, but I know that you're proud of him- and that you miss him."

The sergeant paused; Alex didn't say anything, but merely gazed back, waiting to see what else Staff Sergeant Dunn would say.

Quietly, Dunn went on, "I imagine there's a lot coming at you right now. Everybody's telling you what a great big brother you had, how you gotta be strong for your mom and your pop, and how you got big shoes to fill. But I know that doesn't change what you're thinking about. Doesn't answer your questions.

Why did it have to be your brother, why did this have to happen?" Dunn paused again. He had no idea why he'd started talking like this, but he sure hoped wherever he was getting these words, he could find the rest- this kid needed to hear a complete speech if he was going to get one at all.

Finally, Dunn said, "I can't give you an answer for those questions. Nobody can."

"But if you ever get sad; if times ever come when you really miss your brother, just think about this.

Your brother was a Captain. A Captain in the United States Air Force. That's something that's bigger than you, or me. And every time you see somebody who's in the Air Force, just think about your brother. He's part of them- every time you see someone wearing Air Force blue, you're seeing William."

Then Dunn pointed up at the sky, and the sandy-brown haired boy's gray eyes- reddened and showing a fresh round of tears waiting for the opportune moment to attack- followed. Quietly, and with such reverence and emotion he surprised himself, Dunn said, "And speaking of Air Force blue… see what's up there?"

They both looked for a moment, gazing at the flawless, beautiful blue summer sky.

"That is some of the best flying weather I've ever seen," Dunn said. "So whenever you see a day like this, just think about your brother. Because that's him up there. That's the United States Air Force."

Dunn fell silent again, and the boy just sat there, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally Dunn nodded and stood up, starting to head back inside, hoping he hadn't done the wrong thing- but knowing he had done all he could do to something right.

Behind him, though, still sitting on that stone bench out in the garden, the boy named Alex Kahler was no longer staring aimlessly at the ground, or at the bushes. He began looking up at the wild blue yonder above him, a look of wonder and even happiness coming into his eyes.

He would remember everything Staff Sergeant Dunn had just said; he would commit it to memory, and remember it for the rest of his life.

Every word of it had been true.


End file.
